


Playroom

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [229]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-18 00:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14200599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPGCitadel.





	Playroom

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

[backdated to late January, 2014]  
[ **warning** for inappropriate penetration. Shocker. ;-) ]

Sam's looking for the last of the beers he had stashed in the freezer when he comes upon something even more interesting. Christ. His cock hardening almost instantly. He doesn't remember seeing the [stainless steel baton](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v227/sally_simpson/Ryan/NSFW_zps555e85ab.jpg) before which means it must be something Ryan bought. Had plans for. Heh.

"Boy?" he calls out, closing the door. "C'mere."

Ryan's sitting at his piano, lost in thought with a pencil gripped between his lips as he seeks out the arpeggio progression he's been hearing so clearly in his mind for days. But that _boy_ filters through instantly, flooding his entire body with tension. Sam pretty much never calls him that outside of a scene. Which means... "Sir?" he calls back, the pencil dropping to the floor, forgotten as he gets to his feet to obey. "Do you need me?"

"Yeah. I want you upstairs, playroom, naked and over the bench," Sam orders. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Yes, Sir," Ryan replies quietly, already turning to race up the stairs. His pulse beats madly as he strips out of his jeans, shorts, and t-shirt, quickly folding them neatly and setting them aside. Out of habit he checks that the curtains are drawn enough for privacy, and then he drapes himself over the spanking bench, shutting his eyes and attempting to prepare for the unknown.

Sam drags a small cooler out from under the sink and pops the baton in it, surrounded by ice packs. He takes it upstairs, closing the door to the playroom behind him and strips down, his clothes set with Ryan's. His boy's already stretched out over the bench, that slicked pucker visible between his fucking perfect cheeks.

His cock leaps with anticipation, and Ryan sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. God, the suspense is getting to him already. He never quite knows what to expect from Sam in a scene, but _fuck_. He's never once been disappointed.

Grabbing a length of soft hemp rope from their cabinets, Sam ties Ryan's wrists to the rings on the bench, keeping his boy where he is. He presses a kiss to his shoulder then rises again, moving behind him, hands stroking over his ass, cheeks spread with his thumbs, inspecting him.

With a soft groan, Ryan parts his thighs wider. His Sir doesn't need his permission or his invitation, but it's a welcoming gesture just the same.

"Good boy," Sam murmurs, pushing his thumbs inside. "So eager."

The moan is much louder this time, and Ryan's hips automatically hitch to try and take more, even though an instant later he forces himself back into position. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, and then adds with a grin, "that's because my Sir is really smokin' hot."

Sam laughs and drops his head to press a kiss to Ryan's tailbone. "I love that you think that," he murmurs, 'cause God knows he couldn't give a shit what anyone else in the world thinks. Has heard way too fucking much about his looks over the years. But that Ryan, his boy, his lover, his husband, is still that fucking attracted to him after all the time they've been together? That fucking rocks. "And I love that you love surprises," he says with a small smile, eyes sparkling even though Ryan can't see it.

Ryan whimpers -- he just can't help it. "Yes, Sir," he whispers again.

Sam grins. "Like the one I found in the freezer," he says, biting one cheek, his thumbs still inside his boy, keeping him open.

The bite scrambles Ryan's brains in an instant. "Shit, you found the buffalo steaks for tomorrow?" He winces. "I'm sorry. I know I should only buy you fresh, not frozen, but it's grass-fed from South Dakota and I can't always find that and the meat is supposed to be really delicious if you can get it tender enough..." He realizes he's babbling, and shuts his mouth.

Laughing, Sam bites the other cheek, hard enough to bruise. "Not what I meant," he murmurs, licking over the mark.

"Oh," Ryan says softly, attempting to think even while the delicious impact of the second bite shocks through him. Never a particularly successful combination. But he tries anyway, and... _"Oh."_ He suddenly realizes just what other interesting thing he's put in the freezer recently. And he shivers, his insides contracting tight with excitement.

"Figured it out, did you?" Sam says, taking a step back, his fingers pulled from Ryan's ass and a hard swat delivered to those perfect globes.

"I-- ahh!" Ryan nearly jumps off the bench, startled. His bonds bring him up short. "Yes," he breathes. "Thank you, Sir."

"Were you planning on telling me about it?" Sam asks, pulling the cooler closer.

"Y-- well, um. Uh." With a grimace, Ryan tries to concentrate. "I didn't want to pester you when you're so busy with pre-production. So I figured I'd just keep it cold. For, you know, a rainy day. Just in case," he adds, wondering just where in hell it is that his self-composure _goes_ at times like this.

"Cold?" Sam chuckles. "I think this is _way_ past cold," he says, drawing the baton out, the ice packs tumbling to the bottom.

There's that whimper again. Ryan's shoulders tense, muscles hard as rock for a moment before he consciously takes a deep breath. "S'okay," he says softly, "you know I always run hot."

"Yeah, I do," Sam says, thickly slicking the baton with lube, his touch light enough not to mitigate the freezing cold, "I also know what a slut you are for anything in your ass."

At those words every muscle in Ryan's body clamps down hard. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, and deliberately relaxes his ass, his thighs. Since Sam marked him with the tattoo around his hole, Ryan has meticulously kept that area completely bare - what's the point of having such a kickass tattoo if no one can see it clearly? - and in some vague part of his brain he's grateful for that right now. Freezing metal stuck in his ass: potentially fun. Freezing metal all tangled up with the hair on his ass: potentially so fucking cringe-worthy. His hole clenches, and then relaxes again. "Please, Sir."

"Please what?" Sam murmurs, eyes sparkling again, the tip teased against that eager pucker.

The retreat is so fast, pure instinct -- Ryan slams hard against the spanking bench at that first frozen _holy fuckin' God FREEZING_ touch. He stammers, worried that Sam might be looking for actual coherent words here. Because they've just tripped into mindless babbling territory. "Please," he gasps, "please, Sir. Fuck your boy. Hurt him. Make me scream. Please. Please, anything you want, Sir, please!"

The baton's long but it's not that thick so with the next movement, Sam simply pushes it inside Ryan, letting him have the full freezing cold length.

Ryan howls. Howls like a friggin' banshee. Nine inches of frigid stainless steel, plunged into him all at once. He can't get away and he thinks Sam might just be damaging his kidneys but _fuck_. His hips start pumping hard, fucking himself on the baton and desperately trying to hump the spanking bench at the same time.

"That's it, boy," Sam murmurs, using the handle to hold the baton steady for Ryan. Letting his boy do all the work. "Look at you. You're such a fucking slut for this." His free hand reaching under to grab Ryan's balls. Give them a little squeeze.

Whimpering, Ryan pushes into Sam's hand. "Please," he gasps, because he's rushing towards the fine edge of his self-control. The contrasting sensations - icy and warm, relentless and giving - are just fucking overwhelming. "Please, Sir, please! Let me come!"

"Only if you know you're going to do it again," Sam says, squeezing harder, his eyes on where that freezing metal is penetrating his boy, again and again.

"Ohfuck." The epithet slurs from Ryan's lips, and he struggles to focus. Can he orgasm twice like this? If Sam wants to fuck him, will he be able-- He howls again, tears leaking from his eyes, and heavy white seed bursts to smear on the vinyl of the spanking bench. He doesn't even know why he's begun to cry, he's not exactly in pain, but he just can't keep himself together.

"Good boy," Sam says, starting to thrust the baton into his boy, his grip on Ryan's balls easing slightly.

" _Fuck!_ Oh no. Oh, no, no, no." Ryan spits the words out in an instant of pure terror, agony overtaking his body before he can draw his senses inward and focus on ignoring his physical reality.

"No what, boy?" Sam demands, careful not to truly hurt Ryan, but beyond that, he'll sure as hell push, like always. "No, please stop. No, please harder. Use your words."

"No. No," Ryan sobs, still trying to shrink in on himself. Words? Hell, it's kind of amazing he can manage even those. "Please!" He's so wickedly cold right now, and the baton that spears him again and again makes him incredibly colder when he's so over-sensitized. He wants it gone. He wants Sam.

He really can't verbalize any of that right now.

But Sam doesn't stop. He keeps fucking Ryan with the baton until he's too hard, too aching himself, to ignore any longer, his boy in tears, sobbing, trails of wet streaming down his cheeks. Every single drop feeding the sadist inside him. And then the baton's on the floor and he's lining up, hissing in a breath as he slides into a channel so fucking cold it almost shuts down his arousal.

Ryan howls, his entire body tensing at the new intrusion. But god it's warm, it's warm, and in an instant he pushes back, seeking more. Trying to get as close as his bonds will possibly allow.

"My good boy," Sam murmurs, praises, running his hands over Ryan's back and hips as he thrusts into him, over and over.

Time drags out until it's meaningless to Ryan, but gradually he begins to be comforted, soothed. Which is pretty goddamn bizarre considering the way his body is being battered right now, but he knows his Sir's touch, knows his scent. He can find a home in the brutality of the moment because he knows _Sam_ , and he keens wordlessly, wanting to take everything.

Sam rides Ryan until he can't hold out any longer, his orgasm right fucking _there_. "Oh, fuck," he groans, breath and hips hitching, cock pulsing hot thick ropes of come inside his boy as his nails carve crescents in his skin.

Thank heaven for the spanking bench. Ryan feels like his muscles are collapsing in on themselves, gravity so dense that he can't fight it. His lingering erection throbs somewhere in the distance, but it's like news from a far-off country and he can't bother to pay attention. He's got greater needs right now.

"Good boy," Sam pants softly, taking a moment to savour his pleasure and let the last of the aftershocks ripple through before he eases out and moves to untie the rope from Ryan's wrists.

Ryan shudders, a shock of cold rushing through him as soon as Sam gets up. He whimpers softly once he's freed, but doesn't move. His limbs might as well still be locked in place. 

"You okay?" Sam asks, helping Ryan up and over to the bed.

One foot in front of the other, and Ryan struggles to keep from clinging to Sam as he walks. He lets himself crash onto the bed and immediately tries to burrow down into the bedspread, like a wounded animal gone to hide.

Sam gets on the bed with Ryan, wrapping his body around his boy's and drawing him close, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, the covers pulled around them.

There's still not enough heat. Ryan whimpers and pulls in on himself with a shudder, his mind still so overloaded from the scene that a clear thought can't even work its way through.

"Hey," Sam murmurs, rubbing at Ryan's skin, trying to warm him up. "I've got you, it's okay." He'd grab more blankets or get Ryan into a hot bath but he doesn't know how his boy would react to Sam pulling away at all at the moment.

Ryan lets out a sob, then works to choke the rest back, swiftly turning to face Sam so that he can try to crawl inside his Sir. Safe.

"I love you so much," Sam whispers fiercely, hugging Ryan even closer, as tight as he thinks his husband can stand. "My good boy."

The embrace, the familiar voice, the soothing words -- that combo draws Ryan nearer to equilibrium, better than anything else in the world. "Sir," he whispers, finally unknotting enough that he can slip his arms around Sam. "Thank you, Sir."

Sam breathes a sigh of relief when Ryan finally speaks. Despite his attention to his boy and always being careful, there's always the niggling concern that he'll push too hard, too far, especially when Ryan doesn't have a safeword. And later he'll ask if it _was_ too much, if it was more than Ryan expected, but not right now. Now is for holding his boy and warming him up and making sure he knows, without a doubt, just how much he's loved. "Thank _you_ ," he murmurs, smiling. "You always pick the best toys."

Ryan laughs softly and snuggles in, happy to drift, boundless in the security of his Sir's arms.


End file.
